


Sherlollipops - Unforgettable

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [132]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP, Sherlolly - Freeform, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6046762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly wakes up hungover in a strange bed...what exactly happened last night? And who is she snuggled up against?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - Unforgettable

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I started writing after the end of S3, well before TAB aired. I wrote the first three paragraphs and Sherlock’s first line of dialogue and then…nothing. Till I opened up the file today and wrote the rest! Sometimes inspiration takes a while to strike. Hope you all like it!
> 
> Artwork by the lovely and talented Rebka18. Thanks for letting me post it here!

 

Molly groaned and sat up. She blindly made her way in the dark to the bathroom, only the bathroom wasn’t where she’d left it – why wasn’t the bathroom where she’d left it? Oh yes, because she wasn’t in her own flat, she’d ended up staying over at Baker Street when the victory party over the defeat of the group of criminals using Moriarty’s image to terrorize Britain had carried on into the wee hours.

Her head was pounding but her stomach was as solid as ever. She made her way down the short hall to Sherlock’s bathroom, now that she remembered where she was, and was grateful to see that a nightlight had been left on, showing the side of the sink holding a bottle of paracetamol, a small plastic cup, an unopened toothbrush, a clean washcloth, and some bottled water. She downed the meds, brushed her foul-tasting teeth, drank down about half of the bottle of water, used the loo, washed her face, and crawled back into bed, vaguely noticing the warm lump on the opposite side and snuggling up against it before falling immediately back to sleep.

Three hours later Molly awoke again, this time feeling much better than she had at half-five. She was deliciously warm and comfortable – moreso than usual, now that her groggy brain started taking in certain details. Such as the fact that the warm lump she’d snuggled up against after taking the paracetamol had transformed itself into Sherlock’s sleeping form, which was not so much lying next to her as draped around her. In fact, one of his hands was resting on her right breast and the other had managed to worm its way beneath her pillow so that her head was leaning on it.

When Molly tried to extricate herself by easing her way out of his rather possessive – and very, very nice, even if she knew it was due entirely to inebriation and nothing more – hold, however, Sherlock stirred and mumbled against her neck, “Stay in bed, Molly, ‘s too early to get up yet.”

“Um, Sherlock, yes, it’s very nice and warm, but, um, your hand…?” Molly gingerly tapped the appendage in question, but instead of releasing her, Sherlock made a sleepy, inarticulate noise and tightened his grip.

“Not like I wasn’t touching it before we fell sleep,” he groused, resisting her attempts to peel him off her body.

Molly froze. “Wh-what?” she squeaked out.

Sherlock lifted his head and gazed at her blearily. “Last night, Molly. When we had sex. It wasn’t only my hands on your breasts then.” He smirked, but it quickly faded as he saw the look of shock on her face. Slowly he pulled his hand – and the rest of his body – away from her. “You don’t remember,” he said flatly. Sitting up, he scrubbed a hand over his face as if physically wiping the sleepiness away. “Well, shit, that complicates things.”

She’d never heard him swear before; inexplicably, it helped her to relax. That, and the fact that he seemed as upset as she was that she had no memories of their supposed sexual encounter. Although, come to think of it, her nipples were a bit tender, and as she sat up and shifted her legs, she could feel a familiar ache between her legs.

She also noticed that she wasn’t wearing any knickers, and that what she _was_ wearing – an oversized t-shirt – definitely wasn’t what she’d been wearing the night before.

“I should point out that I was just as drunk as you were, and that we were both definitely in favor of the idea of having sex last night,” Sherlock said as she finished taking stock of her physical situation. He was speaking in a rush, sounding...surely not...nervous? Oh yes, definitely nervous; he was raking his fingers through his already-disheveled curls and peering at her as if he expected to be slapped. Or punched.

“Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you or anything, I know it was just the wine and the adrenalin – for both of us,” Molly said, reaching out to pat him on the knee comfortingly, then thinking better of the automatic motion in mid-reach and snatching her hand back to lie awkwardly on her lap with the other one. “I know you’d never take advantage of me like that.” She gave him a shy smile. “Although it is nice to know that you were interested enough to actually, well, you know.” She gestured vaguely toward the parts of their bodies still covered by the sheet and blanket. “I know that’s not really your area. And I’m sure it was lovely.”

Oh lord, now she was babbling. _Shut up, Molly,_ she silently advised herself. “Anyway, I suppose I should, um, get my clothes – thanks for the t-shirt, it’s yours, right? – and get myself home. And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone what happened. None of their business anyway, right? So it’s all good. I mean we’re good, you and me.” _No, really, Molly, shut absolutely up_ , she urged herself as she began babbling again.

Sherlock was staring at her and she felt a blush forming. Certainly he’d heard her nervous babbling before, but of course it was different when it was just after sex. Sex that she really did hope had been lovely for both of them, even if couldn’t remember it and likely never would. Or experience it again, sadly; now that the euphoria of the case – and the really quite massive number of bottles of wine their little group had emptied – had worn off, Sherlock was going to return to his normal self, and the sooner she could return to _her_ normal self, the better.

At least she’d have the memory of snuggling in bed with him to carry with her, and the warm weight of his hand on her breast, and...

“Molly, I do wish you’d stop that,” Sherlock said crossly. Now that it was obvious she wasn’t upset his nervousness had evaporated. If only hers would as well.

“Stop what? Babbling? Sorry, you know how I get,” she apologized with a nervous giggle.

“No, keep babbling, I quite enjoy listening to you ramble on, but do stop thinking this is some sort of a one-off,” he said. “Just because we were both under the influence doesn’t mean I don’t want it to happen again. Especially since you don’t remember the first go round,” he added, sounding a bit miffed. As if she’d forgotten on purpose or something!

She gaped at him for a moment, not sure if she was more pleased that he seemed to want to shag her again, or more annoyed at him for making her feel as if she’d been in the wrong for being too drunk to remember! Although, putting it that way...no, darn it! It wasn’t her fault, or not entirely. They’d _all_ been hitting the bottle, making toast after silly toast…Sherlock included, as she rather fuzzily recalled. First him, then John, then Greg…

Her eyes widened and she clutched Sherlock’s arm. “Tell me we didn’t start all this while everyone was still here,” she begged. “Tell me we at least waited till everyone had left?”

His expression went blank as he searched out the pertinent bits of information. “Hmm, I don’t think clothes came off till everyone had at least started down the stairs, but we definitely started snogging right after Mary’s toast to new beginnings.” He gave her a slow smile and ran his fingers over hers. “You started it but believe me, Molly, I wasn’t exactly pushing you away.”

She offered no resistance when he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles. She took a deep, shuddering breath when he turned her hand over and kissed her palm. “So, Molly,” he said in his deepest, darkest voice, “would you care to make some new memories?”

“More than you can possibly imagine,” Molly assured him before pulling him down for a lingering kiss. Later they could have the ‘what does this mean’ discussion (which would turn out to be very positive discussion indeed!), but for now she was intent on discovering exactly what she’d missed the night before.

If his kisses were anything to go by, she’d missed quite a bit. And when he began touching her…oh yes, indeed, she’d missed a great deal. He touched her with finesse and enthusiasm in equal measure, eliciting moans and gasps and soft sighs as he deftly removed the t-shirt and tossed it onto the bedroom floor. He, as she quickly discovered, wasn’t wearing so much as a stitch of clothing, and the sight of his naked body quite took her breath away.

She let her eyes linger as she traced him from shoulders to hips with the tips of her fingers. He was pale and elegant as a marble statue, lean but muscular, scarred in places and yet so very perfect. She paused with her hand on his abdomen, feeling a bit awestruck at the fact that she was looking at Sherlock’s erect penis, listening to his erratic breathing, and touching his naked body. “God, Molly,” he groaned after a minute. “I promise there are no limits on where you’re allowed to touch me.”

“Right, same for me,” she said breathlessly as she stroked tentative fingers over the thatch of gingery hair between his thighs. She quickly lost her shyness and encircled his erection with her hand, stroking it and feeling a sort of sense-memory, an echo of what she’d probably done the night before. After touching, tasting was inevitable, and she certainly enjoyed the sounds he made as she put her lips around his warm thickness and sucked.

After only a few minutes he tugged at her hair, pulling her mouth away from him. She didn’t have time to more than make a protesting sound before she found herself flipped on her back with Sherlock lying on top of her, his mouth on her throat sucking hard and the fingers of one hand stroking her sex into a veritable flood of wetness. They traded sloppy, urgent kisses as he raised himself above her; when she murmured something about condoms, he replied that that ship had already sailed and besides, wasn’t she on birth control pills?

Of course she was; Molly was very conscientious about taking her meds, and since they’d already gone bareback, Sherlock was right; there really was no point in breaking things off now in order to go searching for a condom. He’d gotten himself clean during the months it had taken him to resolve the Moriarty Masquerade and she hadn’t had sex since her break-up with Tom and...

She lost her train of thought utterly as she felt Sherlock’s erection pressing against her opening. She automatically widened her legs, clutching him tightly to her as he guided himself into her, so wet and ready to receive him. After a few teasing thrusts, however, he pulled out and knelt over her on all fours, eliciting more garbled protests; with a wicked smile he kissed her, his tongue sliding over hers, his hands moving up her body to knead her breasts. When he lightly pinched her nipples she moaned; when he sucked hard at her neck and flicked her nipples with his thumbs, she gasped and writhed beneath him. And when he bent his head and began to suckle at each of her breasts in turn, she grabbed his head and nearly suffocated him as she pressed him closer.

She felt his muffled chuckle against her body but didn’t care, not when he began moving his tongue over her hardened nubs exactly the way she loved. And when he bit down gently, then not so gently, she called out his name, begging him for more.

He quickly obliged, one hand sliding down till his thumb was pressed against her clit, friction building until she was squirming and bucking her hips, her hands digging into his shoulders and her lower lip between her teeth as she tried (unsuccessfully) to stifle the sound of her impending orgasm. When it burst over her she cried out his name and buried her face against the crook of his neck, shudders wracking her frame and heart pounding in her chest.

She unwrapped herself from around him with a shaky smile and collapsed back on the pillow, waiting for her breathing and heartbeat to slow back to something approaching normal, sweat slicking almost every centimeter of her body – and Sherlock’s too.

He was pressing soft kisses to her neck and shoulder while she recovered, and as soon as she was ready she let him know by reaching down and grasping his erection. She ran her thumb over the weeping slit and he hissed inwards, eyes darkening as he lifted his head and stared down at her. She smiled and nodded, wiping a few errant strands of hair from where they were sticking stubbornly to her cheeks, and burst into a veritable flurry of activity.

With one hand he lifted her right leg over his shoulder, opening her up and making it easier for him to push into her, slowly and steadily, until he was fully seated. He rested on his elbows and traded urgent, sloppy kisses with her as he began to thrust, their bodies slapping noisily together with obscene smacking sounds that Molly found almost intolerably exciting. Her hands were back on his shoulders and he was sucking hard at her neck, worrying the flesh between his teeth while she groaned and gasped her enjoyment.

Having already come she knew the chances were she wasn’t going to experience a second orgasm, but incredibly felt herself building toward a second peak as Sherlock continued to move against her. When he began whispering a stream of filthy suggestions into her ear, the combination of the dirty talk in his incredibly sexy voice – not to mention their current carnal activities – soon tipped her over the edge.

She let out a hoarse, drawn-out cry of pleasure, eyes screwed tightly shut as Sherlock paused to wait out her orgasm. When she opened her eyes and kissed him, he began moving again, and all Molly could do was hold on, pressing soft kisses to his throat and clavicle and shoulders while he gasped and shuddered against her, approaching his own climax. “God I love you,” she blurted out after their lips met in a sloppy kiss.

His eyes widened, then slammed shut as his hips stuttered and surged forward in one final thrust. He continued to shudder as he emptied himself inside her; when he finished, he collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, crushing her into the mattress before rolling them both onto their sides so that she lay snuggled securely against him, his arms wrapped around her and his lips on her forehead.

“Too soon?” she asked when they’d both caught their breath, knowing that he’d understand what she was asking even after what seemed to have been a mind-blowing orgasm.

“Not soon enough,” he refuted. “Until last night I thought you’d actually moved on, that you’d gotten over me. Then Mary offered that toast, you and I clinked glasses, our eyes met…and I knew I was wrong. That if I hadn’t resolved never to deduce you again after that Christmas party, I would have known sooner exactly how wrong I’d been.”

She reached up to stroke her hand along his cheekbone, tracing the shape of the zygomatic arch with the tips of her fingers. “Oh yeah, I knew as soon as you got back that I wasn’t over you,” she admitted with a self-deprecating smile. “But I really wanted to be, for Tom’s sake…and for my own. Because even if we were friends, I never thought you’d want, well, _me_. Not like this.”

“Molly, I’ve wanted you like this since the first time you asked me out for coffee,” he said frankly. “That’s why I pretended to misunderstand you. Because I thought a relationship, even if it was strictly physical, would get in the way of the Work.”

“And now?” she asked softly, not bothering to hide the combination of longing and fear in either her voice or her expression. She needed to know where they stood, what Sherlock wanted this to be, and not hold out false hopes if this was, indeed, strictly physical. She could handle a friends-with-benefits relationship in the short run, or thought she could, but waited to hear what he had to say before speculating further.

He held her even closer, lowering his head to kiss her. It was soft, lingering, warm, and perfect. Her eyes fluttered shut and she slid her hand around to rest her fingers against the sweat-dampened curls at the back of his neck. The other hand rested on his heart, and she felt it speeding up beneath her touch. “Now, Molly Hooper,” Sherlock whispered against her lips when the kiss ended, “now I understand what I never could before. That love isn’t a chemical defect, that sentiment isn’t something to be sneered at, and that I am definitely not a machine.”

Before she had time to do more than wonder about that last statement, he kissed her again, quite thoroughly. “Oh, and, of course, I love you too. In case I didn’t make that clear enough.”

“Oh, I think I figured it out,” she said with a cheeky wink. “Even if I’m not a deductive genius like some people.”

Then she kissed him again, and again, until one thing led to another and they were once again engaged in very, very pleasant activities.

Activities that Molly and Sherlock both found absolutely unforgettable.

 


End file.
